by K. Gorman
Robin watched her expectantly. “Well?”
“What?”
“Eat it. I’m serious about stuffing you full of sugar. You look peaked. We probably should have been asleep hours ago.”
Mieshka pouted. “But I slept all day!”
“You needed it.”
After another minute, she relented. She’d pay Robin back some other time. The sugar made a nice crunching sound as she broke it in her mouth.
“You girls are up early.”
Deann swung back behind the counter. Another pot of coffee percolated on the machine, and its growl almost drowned out the sound of the range hood from the kitchen. Deann, her form warped by the bent glass of the front display, grabbed a stepladder from the side wall and positioned it under the chalkboard menu. Her shoes made a tinny sound as she climbed it.
“No, we are up late.” Robin took a cautious sip of her coffee, bending her head forward until her lips touched the glass. A few strands of hair slipped down in front of her face. Her brow furrowed slightly. The overhead light made her skin look blotchy and strained. The shadows under her eyes seemed more prominent.
But when she looked up, the shadows vanished. Her blue eyes were sharp, alert, and piercing.
Deann reached up. Mieshka could see where the tendons in her arm tightened as she began to write the menu. An elegant cursive S trailed down the board under her steady hand. “Up late, eh?”
“Sleepover,” Robin explained. She turned the mug around in her hands, the ceramic making a small, hard sound against the table.
Deann finished inscribing the S and moved on to the next letter. The coffee on the counter growled, sputtered, and stopped percolating. The only sound was the click of Deann’s chalk, the roar of the range hood in the kitchen, and the occasional tick as the oven heated up again.
Mieshka took another sip of her coffee, feeling the heat slide down her throat. The skin on her fingers was flushed red where it touched the cup. The cut under the bandage of her right hand throbbed. For the first time, she noticed a small cut on her finger, neatly healed into a tiny scab. A slender bruise darkened the skin on the back of her hand. Was that new from yesterday? Or had that happened at some point during her time with the Earth Mage?
She’d lost track.
She took another bite of the cinnamon bun, savoring the rough sugar on her tongue.
Across the table, Robin leaned closer. “So, you said Chris works down here?”
She nodded. “Yes, in the clinic.”
Robin grinned, then glanced down at Mieshka’s bandages. “Maybe you need to get those changed soon, eh?”
Right. Mieshka could see where she was going with this. It had been a while since Robin had been out in the world, what with her grounding and all. She hadn’t seen Chris at all since they’d left school.
She nodded and tilted her head back, narrowing her eyelids to slits as she listened to the quiet. The air felt warm and comfortable. Her hair slipped against her neck. It felt odd to wear it down like this. Different. She wasn’t sure if she liked it.
Above them, the lights flickered. From the top of the ladder, Deann gave the bulbs a scathing look, eyes narrowed. She wrote faster after that, the chalk tapping and squeaking as she formed the words and prices.
As the lights flickered again, Mieshka and Robin exchanged a small look.
“Guess the power grid isn’t that great down here, with all the old buildings,” Robin mused.
Mieshka nodded, took a bite of her cinnamon bun, and chewed. “As I understand it, it’s a jumbled mess of wires down here. Old and new.”
“Makes sense.”
She nodded. Then, as she took another bite, the lights went out.
Across the room, Deann swore.
A small light switched on, plugged into the wall by the counter. It bathed the room in a smooth teal glow that reminded her of the Water Mage’s Element.
As her eyes adjusted, she heard the tick tick tick of Deann’s shoes climbing down the ladder.
“Just a second. I’ll bring candles out. Have to tape up the oven first.”
Mieshka frowned. The room was starting to come back into focus. As her eyes adjusted, she could see Robin across the table. Her pale skin stood out against the darkness, and her fingers looked almost skeletal as she clutched her navy blue mug.
She raised an eyebrow at Robin. “Did she say ‘tape’?”
From the kitchen, they both heard the distinct rip of duct tape.
“My mom used to do that,” Robin said in the dim light. Mieshka saw her glance over to the kitchen. “It traps the heat in, so you can turn the oven off and still have stuff cooking. Used to cook turkey that way. Overnight. That way, we could fall asleep and not have to watch the oven.”
She nodded. It made sense.
Her phone gave small chirp as it tried and failed to find a network.
A minute later, Deann reappeared with candles. As she set one down between them, Mieshka felt her Element connect to the fire. The flame flickered as if she’d touched it, then grew an inch taller. Golden light danced across the table, reflecting in the dark window beside them.
Robin, face aglow in warm light, raised an eyebrow. The corner of her mouth quirked.
Deann set candles on the other tables with a practiced efficiency. Soon, the shop was alive with fire.
It felt cozy. Mieshka sank deeper into the chair, relishing the sight.
“I’ll be happy when these brownouts are done with.” The ladder creaked as Deann climbed it again, chalk in hand. She balanced herself against the overhanging wall and went back to work on the menu.
“Does this happen often?” Robin asked the woman.
“Lately, yeah. Ever since the Water Mage started messing with the grid.” She tapped the chalk quickly against the board, forgoing the earlier cursive she’d used. The sound reminded Mieshka of school. “I’m surprised you haven’t noticed. You’re not from down here?”
The shop fell into silence. Robin and Mieshka exchanged looks.
“Not that I care,” Deann hastily added. “Just curious, is all.”
“We’re half and half,” Mieshka said cautiously. “We both sort of live aboveground, but we spend most of our time down here.”
“I guess it’s a bit nicer down here, what with the snow and all.” With one final tap, she finished the menu. The ladder groaned as she bent over, feeling her way down the steps.
Across the table, Robin stiffened. Her gaze snapped to the door.
The bell jingled as it opened, and a draft hit Mieshka’s back. The candle guttered in front of her.
Two people walked in. They were both young—early twenties, she thought, although the woman looked younger—and they had a rough look to them. It wasn’t so much in their clothes, though. The woman had a grunge-metal, street-punk hybrid dress code, with bleached dreads, studded leather, and ripped skinny jeans. The man wore an oversized black hoodie and faded, baggy pants. Their faces had an exhausted look. Dark bags underscored both their eyes, darkening even the woman’s heavy makeup, and it looked like they’d worn the same clothes for too long. The man had heavy stubble on his chin and neck.
Cigarette smoke tainted the air as they passed.
Tension stiffened her spine. They moved differently from the casual customer. Too quickly, with too much purpose. They didn’t stop to consider the tables, but scanned the café with an efficient wariness.
When they turned toward the counter, she caught sight of the man’s other hand.
The room’s candlelight gleamed on the sharp edge of his knife.
Chapter 27
From hilt to tip, the knife was the length of her forearm. A heavy one, built for combat. Not something he’d lifted from the kitchen counter. It had a curved edge that reminded her of a hawk’s beak.
The man leveled it at Deann.
The shopkeeper’s lip curled. “I take it you’re not here for the scones.”
“No. Open the register.”
Adrenal
ine spiked into her blood. A robbery? She glanced to Robin, who caught her eye and then looked pointedly down. Mieshka followed her gaze to the backpack by her foot. She frowned, then got what Robin was trying to tell her.
Robin’s gun was in the backpack. Probably at the bottom.
She shook her head, eyes frantic, then cast a quick glance at the robbers before going back to Robin. The candle between them sputtered, and her Element pricked closer to her skin.
“No,” she hissed, keeping her voice as low as possible. “It will just make things worse.”
Robin gave her a sarcastic look. Then, her eyes widened, darting to a spot just behind Mieshka.
Her skin prickled. A draft hit her back, and she realized that the door behind her was still open.
A third man stood in the doorway, his dark hoodie making him nearly invisible against the pitch-black backdrop of the street. He had a mid-range height—maybe an inch shorter than the knife-wielder—with short hair, a dark complexion, and eyes that caught the firelight like liquid chocolate. He glanced at her as she looked back. For a second, their eyes met.
The candle behind her flared.
Then, his attention slipped back to the other two. Without a word, he turned his back to her, held the door to the wall, and kicked the jamb into place.
The man with the knife walked closer to the counter.
Deann backed up, hands rising into the air. “I don’t have much. Not this early.”
“Don’t care. Open it up.”
His aim was steady, the blade never faltering in his hand. It looked more like a sword, the way he held it. A nearby candle lit up the side of his sweatshirt, causing the shadows to flick and dance over his body.
Deann slowly moved to the register and hit a button. It opened with a heavy clang.
The guy jerked his head to the woman with the dreads. “Leloni, go get it.”
But Leloni wasn’t looking at him. Instead, she’d noticed Robin. “Hey, I know her.”
Mieshka stiffened as the man turned around, keeping his knife trained on Deann and his back to the wall. His gaze flicked over them, settling on Robin.
“You’re the chick with the doll head, aren’t you?”
Mieshka stared. Had she heard that right? Doll head?
The man didn’t wait for an answer. Instead, his mouth spread in a toothy grin. “Well, we can take her money, too.”
His eyes slid to the change that still sat on the table.
But Deann had other plans. Mieshka caught movement in her peripheral vision—Deann grabbing something from underneath the register. When she straightened, something long, black, and metallic gleamed in her hands.
A rifle.
The third man sucked in a sharp breath. “Carson, watch—”
Bang!
The gunshot roared in the small space, deafening her. She ducked, and felt the table shake as Robin did the same. The lead robber—Carson, she guessed—screamed and slumped toward them. His knife swung around during the fall, biting into the table next to Mieshka’s hand as he grabbed for support, eyes wide with pain.
Mieshka scooted her legs back just in time. His shoulder hit her shin as he went down to the tile, sending pain shooting up her leg. She yelped, and the candle on the table flared.
Robin was down, too. For a second, Mieshka thought maybe she had been hit, as well. She panicked, looking for her friend, until a familiar head popped out from under the table. Robin crawled over Carson’s screaming form, reached over, and knocked the knife from his hand. It skittered across the restaurant.
As the ringing began to clear from her ears, she heard someone else scream.
The girl with the dreads pounced on Robin, mouth open in horror, eyes wide. She kicked at her, all fury and wildness, and Robin punched back. Mieshka scrambled to help, grabbing for her crutch.
Her Element kicked in first. Fire blossomed on her sleeve, slipped onto her fingers. The candle beside her shuddered, flared, and sputtered into the air. Heat rose from her skin.
When she found her crutch, the wood burned under her touch.
She brought it up. Pain ripped through her shoulder us she swung, cracking the dreadlocked girl on the shoulder.
The third man wrenched the crutch from her grip, and she yelped with pain. His eyes darted to the butt of the crutch, which now burned like a torch. When his gaze returned to her, his expression changed.
Recognition sparked in his eyes.
For a second, the shop was utterly quiet.
“You dyed your hair, didn’t you?” he said.
She blanched, jaw dropping.
How in the hell—?
Then, everything erupted into chaos.
The dreadlocked girl screamed again, lunging for Robin. Her fingers flexed, stiff as claws. Blood smeared her knuckles and face. Robin screamed back, baring her teeth. She kicked her off, sending her staggering back.
Firelight shadowed the girl’s face as she steadied herself. Her mouth twisted into a feral snarl.
Deann turned her gun toward her, and Mieshka saw the third man’s eyes go wide.
“No!”
The fire on the crutch flared, and all the candles in the shop lengthened. Heat shimmered around his hands, hissing where he held the crutch. Smoke curled up from his fingers. Flutes of flame danced on his skin like friendly, fiery insects.
Her eyes widened. Another Fire Elemental?
The Phoenix stirred inside her, shifted closer to her skin. She reached out with her magic, tried to douse the flame.
Too late.
He threw the crutch at Deann. The burst of fire that followed screamed into the air like a jet. The windows rattled. Heat flashed over her skin. A force knocked her back into the chair, pressing her down. She saw him move and grab the girl with the dreadlocks.
When the fire cleared, both the man and the girl were gone.
The door banged shut behind them.
Robin stood, fingers shaking by her side. A trickle of blood ran down her face. More smeared her hands. Hair had fallen loose from her ponytail, and it framed her face in scraggly, grisly strands. Her blue eyes pierced through the dim light, alive and livid.
They flicked to the man at Mieshka’s feet.
The robbery’s ringleader had not made it out of the café. In fact, he hadn’t moved at all for the last thirty seconds. If Mieshka hadn’t seen the slight rise and fall of his chest, she would have thought him dead. Blood pooled around his body, some of it already smeared across the tiles. Threads of it wicked into the blackened grout.
He didn’t move.
Mieshka turned back to the door. The window was black where it led outside, the streetlights still dark with the power outage. She couldn’t see a thing.
She didn’t need to. She knew.
Somewhere out there was another Fire Elemental. And she was going to find him.
Chapter 28
By the time Jo arrived, the fire was out, the power was back on, and Deann was explaining to Roger what, exactly, had happened.
It had been scary how fast he’d appeared, as if he had a preternatural sense for trouble. He stood by the counter, a suave piece of shadow in his black suit jacket, brimmed fedora, and creased slacks. The neon green bottle hung by his hip, its lethal contents tilting with every move he made.
Mieshka and Robin had switched tables, moving away from where the ringleader had bled on the floor. The man—Carson—was alive, propped up on some tables Deann had shoved together in the middle of the shop, a fresh bandage around the gunshot wound in his leg. He was conscious enough to talk, too, which was unfortunate. Once out of danger, he had called each and every occupant of the shop a cock-sucking cunt.
Then, Roger had tipped half a salt shaker into his wound.
He hadn’t talked much after that. Occasionally, Mieshka saw him glance her way.
Robin played with her cup—a new mug, since the old one had broken in the fight. The dregs of her last refill swirled around the bottom. She seemed more alert now, alt
hough it was getting past even the time she usually went to bed lately, if Mieshka understood her friend's winter break schedule right.
They both looked up when the bell above the door chimed.
Jo stood for a full minute in the doorway, taking in the scene. Parts of the tables were scorched, and a long line of charred wood split the register from where the other Elemental had attacked Deann. He hadn’t actually burnt her with the fire, just pushed her over. As far as Mieshka could tell, Deann was unhurt.
She’d even kept all of her money.
Roger and Jo exchanged a long look. Then, Jo scrunched her nose in Mieshka’s direction. “Forty-five minutes. You just can’t stay out of trouble, can you?”
“It’s not my fault,” she said. “They just came in.”
Jo’s boots tapped on the floor as she crossed the room. “It’s been barely a day since your last incident.”
Robin rotated the mug slowly in her hands. The cuffs of her jacket were still dark from where she’d washed the blood off in Deann’s sink. “She does tend to attract trouble.”
“She does,” Jo agreed. “I just wish that she stopped getting injured during the trouble.”
“I don’t think I got injured this time,” Mieshka said, glancing down. In fact, she felt fine. The next set of painkillers had kicked in, and she couldn’t even feel the throb of her old wounds.
Jo grabbed a spare chair, flipped it around, and straddled it backwards. Her lean arms draped over its back, muscles flexing as she rested her chin on her wrists. She wore yesterday’s clothes. Mieshka could tell because they still smelled burned. But this was old smoke, not new, and it was nearly hidden by the lingering haze in the restaurant.
“So,” Jo said slowly, gaze slipping between her and Robin. “You just happened to come in here at the exact time that the place got robbed.”
“Technically,” Mieshka said. “It didn’t get robbed. They didn’t get any money.”
“Attempted robbery, then,” Jo said, closing her eyes. There were deep lines under them, gouging into her face. Mieshka wondered how long she’d slept for, if at all. “And then, before that, you had a gun pulled on you at your sleepover.”